


Paracosm

by MiraculousMinion



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Miraculous, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 19:04:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14700315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraculousMinion/pseuds/MiraculousMinion
Summary: ParacosmNoun* A detailed imaginary world, especially one created by a child.





	Paracosm

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work ever. Constructive criticism is welcome.

_Marinette looked like a zombie._

_Alya told her as much when she stumbled into class that morning. Dark crescents hung under her eyes and her pigtails were uneven. She'd passed Chloe on her way, and, as was typical, the other girl made a comment about her current state. Marinette didn't rise to meet Chloe's challenge. Instead, she'd grumbled, “Not in the mood,” threw a half-hearted glare, and walked away. She was so tired she didn’t notice Adrien’s concerned gaze as she almost crashed into the classroom door._

_Marinette dropped her backpack and collapsed into her seat. A dull thud sounded as her forehead hit her desk. Alya’s quiet laugh came from her left._

_“You okay girl?” Alya asked._

_Marinette grunted and lifted her head._

_“Did you sleep at all?”_

_“Not enough. Inspiration struck. I was working on a project all night.”_

_It wasn't a complete lie. She_ had _done a bit of sewing the night before. But really, she’d had patrol with Chat. They’d stayed out much longer than they should have. Not that anyone could blame them. Patrols were their only chance to spend time together out side of akuma attacks. They’d long ago stopped acting like it was anything but an excuse to hang out. As annoying as his puns could be, Marinette loved being around Chat. He was her partner, her best friend, someone she could always depend on. He knew her better than anyone. He-_

_“Marinette.”_

_She blinked and looked at Alya, who laughed again. “Girl, you need to sleep.”_

_She knew that. She very much missed the warm comfort of her bed. And although she’d never regret going on patrol with Chat, she wished they had called it a night earlier._

_Hey, at least she got to class on time._

_In front of her, Adrien leaned his head on his arms and closed his eyes. The bags under his eyes were almost unnoticeable, hidden by makeup that morning. He knew staying out so late was a mistake, but being with Lady was worth it. They had lost track of time playing their own version of 20 Questions. It was a challenge considering how tight-lipped Ladybug was about her identity, but they made it work. Adrien respected her decision and followed the rules she’d laid down before playing the game. He would wait until she was ready. He would wait as long as he had to._

_For her, he would wait forever._

_“You too Adrien?” Alya’s asked._ _She’d paused her conversation with Nino to look at him. Nino was watching too, half turned around so he could talk to Alya. Marinette was resting her head on the desk again, using her hands as a pillow._

_“Huh?” was his brilliant answer._

_Alya’s eyebrow rose. “You two are both falling asleep in your seats.” She shared a conspiratorial glance with Nino. “Sure you weren’t doing something together?”_

_It was a testimony to how tired she was that Marinette didn’t break into a blushing mess. Judging by her non-reaction, she likely hadn’t even heard._

_Adrien, however, could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. “I was doing homework,” he protested._

_Alya gave him a look that said,_ Is that the answer you want to go with?

_“And playing video games.”_

_Nino and Alya shared another look. Alya smiled and leaned back in her seat. “Sure, sure.”_

_Another attempt to defend himself rose to his lips, but Madame Bustier walked in at that moment. All conversation cut off. Nino faced forward. Behind him, Adrien could hear Alya rousing Marinette._

_“Good morning class. I hope you all are awake and ready to learn.” She said this last part with a glance at Marinette._ _The girl in question sent the teacher a sheepish smile._

_“Today we will be—“_

A knock pulled Adrien from his thoughts. His head snapped toward the door. He recognized the sound. It was a solid knock, two beats, made with the first knuckles. It was a knock he heard often and knew immediately. A down to business knock. An attention grabbing, no arguing knock. It was a knock with purpose.

It was a Nathalie knock.

“Yes Nathalie?”

“We’re leaving for your photoshoot in five minutes.”

Adrien sigh. “Thank you Nathalie,” he called. She was likely already gone—she always was—but he liked saying it anyway. Just in case.

The chair let out a squeak of protest as he leaned back and looked at the book lying on his desk. It was open, his neat handwriting filling the paper, filling most of the book. He was almost to the end. He’d need a new one soon.

Madame Bustier’s sentence hung unfinished on the open page. Nathalie had interrupted him in the middle of writing. He spun the chair around once. He could finish it. It was one sentence, would take only a few seconds. But then he’d want to keep going. He’d get sucked in again and lose track of time and Nathalie would come back and this time she would do more than knock. She’d come into the room and see the book and he couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t understand.

With another sigh he closed the book. He rolled the chair over to the shelves beside his bed, slid the book into one of the compartments. Giving the globe a spin as he passed, Adrien grabbed his phone and went to join Nathalie.

She was waiting for him at the front door. Face stoic, back straight, tablet in one hand. Adrien couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been like that, when she hadn’t been at the mansion. His entire life she had been there, brandishing her tablet like it was a weapon. She gave him his lessons, listened to his requests—however futile they were. She was there when his father wasn’t.

Now, she walked alongside him to the car, heels clacking on the pavement. Adrien climbed into the back while Nathalie slid into the passenger seat, next to the Gorilla. He turned his head to look out the window, watching the buildings and people go by. He checked the time on his phone. His gaze fell on the unblemished skin of his right hand. He lifted it up, examining his fingers. They were devoid of any jewelry.

If he tried hard enough, Adrien could imagine the silver ring of the black cat. He could feel the heat of the smooth metal, the weight of it on his finger. He could see it turn from silver to black, the indented paw print coming to life with green light. The sun on his face, the wind rushing through his hair as he jumped across rooftops. The texture of the suit, the way it moved, the feel of it against his skin.

The overwhelming freedom of being Chat Noir. Of no longer having to be Adrien.

The image was so clear in his mind, so vivid that it hurt. None of it was real. It was only a story in his head.

Why couldn’t it be real?

The car slowed and Adrien forced himself back to reality. No use dwelling on something that would never happen. He needed to focus on what was real, like the shadow of the Jardin Luxembourg looming in front of them.

Adrien had done a photoshoot here before. But that had been later in the year, when the leaves were falling off trees and flowers didn’t seem as bright. Now, locked in the hold of spring, everything was alive. The smell of flowers hung in the air, caught by a cool breeze. Birds whistled from vibrant green trees. Flowers bloomed with color; reds, purples, yellows, pinks mixing together on delicate petals. It was almost enough to take his breath away. Adrien stood by his open car door and took it in. He had lived in Paris his whole life, but he so rarely got to see any of it. Any opportunity to be outside, especially in such a beautiful place, was a welcome escape.

Nathalie—cold, quiet Nathalie—was all business as he climbed out of the car. She wasted no time looking at the sights or smelling the flowers. She tapped away at her tablet, then walked away without a word. Adrien was still unsure why was here. Nathalie didn't usually attend his photoshoots, but she'd come to the last few. He'd received no explanation. Regardless, he followed to where the photographer and makeup crew were already waiting.

Contrary to what some believed (Chloe), Adrien didn’t hate photoshoots. It may seem like it sometimes, but he didn’t. Adrien Agreste hated few things. At most he disliked them. His dislike was not because of the modeling itself. It was because, to be frank, photoshoots were boring. They were all the same. Something he had learned when he first became a model was that there was a routine, a system of doing this. Crews followed this routine—with occasional, slight variations—at every shoot. After a while, it became muscle memory. He could do a photoshoot in his sleep. He no longer needed to pay attention. So what appeared as hatred was actually a lack of excitement over the repetition.

Of course not all photoshoots were like that. Sometimes they were fun. Usually it was when he got to pose with other models, with people his age. They made the monotony of photoshoots not so monotonous. It was no longer only him in front of the camera, no longer only him sitting alone while people bustled around him. At those shoots he had someone to talk to, someone who understood. At those shoots, he felt a little more normal. Those were the shoots he enjoyed.

And they were the ones that never seemed to last long enough.

Unfortunately, this shoot was alone.

The crew handed him his clothes—his father’s latest designs—as soon as he reached them. A small tent area had been set up for him to change. Then he sat still as they styled his hair and covered any imperfections with makeup. The crew never talked, at least not to him, so he looked at the garden around him. People milled about, taking pictures, pointing out flowers and statues to each other. Adrien watched as one child plucked a small flower from the grass and handed it to her mother. The mother took it with a smile. A pang of longing shot through him.

He moved his attention to the makeup crew, studying the way they moved and communicated. People watching.

Adrien did it a lot, especially at photoshoots. People didn't generally talk to him, and if they did, it was as a celebrity, not as a teenager. So he preferred to watch instead of talk. To stay in the background and observe. It was interesting, the way people acted with each other, the way they communicated. So much of it hid in body language. So much of it was missed.

(Eavesdropping too—which his mom had always told him was rude—was something he did often. People, teenagers most of all, had such entertaining conversation. He yearned to be a part of them.)

The makeup/hair crew was quick and efficient. They’d done this before at other photoshoots. They knew how his hair should look, what his exact skin tone was, if he had any blemishes or marks on his face. At this point, the crew had his makeup down to a science. That made it easier for both them and him, and they finished in only a few minutes.

The photographer, Vincent, had set up his equipment next to the Medici Fountain. Water trickled down the fountain’s stone levels, dropping with a splash into the pond below. The rectangular pond stretched out from the fountain. Its water was a placid blue, disturbed only by the occasional fallen leaf or flower petal. Reflected trees rippled on its surface. Metal fences topped with stone pots encircled the pond. Chairs littered the walkway around it, rest stops where people could sit and enjoy the beauty. Those chairs were empty now. In fact, the entire area around the fountain was devoid of anyone not needed for the shoot. It was necessary, but that didn't stop the disappointment.

Adrien took a moment to breath in the fresh air. He tried to calm his racing mind and get in the right mindset for a photoshoot. The metal rail was cold as he leaned over, looking down at the water below. It threw his face back at him, his perfect, perfect face. The only thing people ever really saw of him.

(Sometimes he hated his face.)

A petal drifted down to the meet its mirror image, drawing Adrien’s eye. He watched it float. Then, taking a deep breath, he considered his own reflection again. A smile twisted soft pink lips. It was fake, so obviously inauthentic. Yet no one ever noticed. No one ever realized he wasn’t really smiling.

(That was a lie. Chloe did. She called it his “model smile.”)

(She was the only one.)

Pushing himself away from rail, Adrien headed toward Vincent. The man bent over, admiring an ornamental pot of purple peonies. He looked up as Adrien approached, smiled.

“Afternoon Adrien,” he greeted.

“Good afternoon Vincent.” That smile still plastered on his face.

“Are you ready for the shoot?”

“As ready as I always am.”

“Wonderful. Go stand next to the fountain, lean against the stone . . .”

For the next hour Adrien let his mind wander. He still heard Vincent’s comments (many of which were about spaghetti), but this was all second nature. He knew what Vincent wanted even before the man said it. (He may not always enjoy it, but there was no disputing the fact that Adrien was a natural born model). So he smiled and laughed and pretended, and all the while his mind was on his story. He ran through scenes, scenes he’d already done, scenes he was working on now, scenes he had planned for the future.

(Somewhere in his mind Adrien knew it wasn’t healthy to be so invested in a made up world, but it was his escape. It was all he had.)

The photoshoot wasn’t long, in fact it was rather short, but Adrien was fidgeting by the end of it. Ideas were swimming around in his head and he wanted to get them down on paper before they he lost them. Vincent seemed to sense Adrien’s impatience. He ended the shoot as Adrien was reaching his breaking point. A quick change and makeup removal, and then Adrien was gone. He practically dove into the car where the Gorilla sat waiting. Nathalie joined them a minute later.

Adrien was almost vibrating in his seat on the ride back. He could feel Nathalie’s eyes on him, but he was too preoccupied to care. He checked his phone every few seconds. Not for the first time, Adrien wished he could bring his book with him. But it was risky. If Nathalie saw it she’d tell his father, and he wasn’t sure Gabriel Agreste would be supportive of his son’s hobby. Especially when that hobby involved him as the villain.

Agreste mansion materialized around them as the Gorilla drove through the gates. Adrien had never much cared for the place. It was nice, yes, but also needlessly large. Sure it looked pretty from the outside, but the reality of it was there were only six people in the house (well, five now). They didn’t need a four story mansion. Adrien had never even gone into half the rooms. No one ever did. They sat empty, collecting dust. It was all such a waste. And Adrien would trade the entire building for a chance to get out and be a normal kid for once.

(He couldn’t wait until he was an adult.)

He climbed out of the car and hurried to the front door. Marble floors squeaked under his sneakers as he took the stairs two at a time. Adrien was in his room and grabbing his book before Nathalie had even reached the front door. Almost ripping out pages in his haste, he flipped the book to the unfinished classroom scene. Adrien had never seen himself as a writer when he was younger. He’d always preferred reading other people’s stories. He hadn’t understood when writers talked about minds crowded with ideas. He did now. His handwriting was messy as he scribbled words on the page. Time slipped away. All that he could see was the story. The scenes so detailed and real in his head he didn’t understand how they could be only fiction.

Sometimes authors described books as ideas they couldn’t forget, like a song stuck in your head. As if the stories were monsters that dragged them into the dark kicking and screaming. The opposite was true for Adrien. His story was an ocean, and Adrien had jumped off a cliff head first into it, eyes open and ready. It may be meaningless to other people, but to him, this story was everything.

Nature called as Ladybug and Chat Noir defeated Hawkmoth’s latest akuma. As reluctant as he was to stop even for a minute, nature doesn’t wait. He heaved himself from his chair and made his way to the bathroom. His book lay open on his desk, pencil weighing down the pages. That was his mistake.

It was only a few minutes, but it was enough.

Adrien jerked to a halt on his way out of the bathroom. He blinked, then blinked again. The scene in front of him was so unexpected it took a solid minute of staring to comprehend what was happening.

His stomach dropped, heart climbed up his throat. The breath left his lungs.

No. God please no. Anything but this.

Gabriel Agreste stood in his room. He craned his neck, focusing on Adrien’s desk. On Adrien’s open book. The book that under no circumstances was his father to see. The book that had become his life.

No. Please.

Blood pounded in his ears, drowning out everything else. His heart was beating so fast, too fast.

This couldn’t be happening.

Gabriel looked up, looked at him with those hard eyes, so devoid of emotion, of anything. His face gave nothing away. Their gazes locked—green on blue. Not breaking eye contact, his father picked up the book, flipped a page. The rub of paper against paper seemed to echo in the room.

“Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir,” Gabriel read. His tone was cold, distant. Had it ever been anything but?

Adrien’s mouth was dry. He swallowed and tried to speak. Swallowed again. His voice cracked. “Father, I—“

The book closed. The sound was a gunshot in the overwhelming silence. Adrien’s words froze in his throat.

“Nathalie told me you’ve been distracted recently.” His eyes flicked toward the book, disdain written in every line on his face. “Now I see why.”

“Father—“

“I’m taking this book. You will never engage in such a childish hobby again. It is a waste of your time and skill.”

He couldn’t breath. He was dying.

“What? But that’s not fair. It’s not hurting anything so—“

“It is hurting your performance and focus. It’s a distraction.”

Rage flared in him then, red and hot, consuming everything. It surprised him, the force of his own anger. He had suppressed it for years, had kept it inside. It had grown, festered, condensed into a ball, waiting to burst. Now it spilled out from him, radiated. It reared its head like an animal fighting against its restraints.

Adrien embraced it, greeted it like a long lost friend, arms open. He wrapped it around himself, a shield, a second skin. His rage would protect him.

For so long he had let his father command him, let him take so much. But not this. Never this.

“Why can’t you let me do things I wanna do?! Why can’t you ever just let me have fun?! I’ve always done everything you asked so why can’t I have this?! Why do you have to take everything from me?!”

He stood, panting, in the doorway to his bathroom, trying to reign his anger in. Without it to hold him up his legs felt like rubber. His hands, his whole body, shook. Gabriel stood in front of the desk, face impassive as ever. He stared at Adrien as if making sure his outburst was over.

“You will not speak to me like that again. I am your father and you will do as I say.” Book still clutched in his hand, Gabriel turned to leave. He paused in the doorway of the room. For a moment Adrien thought he’d changed his mind. Maybe he wouldn’t take the book. Maybe it would be okay and he’d realize how important this was to Adrien. Maybe he finally understood what he’d been doing to his son all his life.

When his father spoke again, his hope died. It shriveled up, curled in on itself as if to hide from the world, from the pain of life.

(Someday Adrien’s hope in his father was going to kill him.)

“Practice your piano. I expect to hear your progress later.”

Adrien forced the words out of his mouth. They made him sick. “Yes Father.”

Gabriel nodded and left. The door closed behind him with a click.

Adrien sank to the floor. He felt empty, numb. Like his father had stuck a hand through his chest and ripped out his heart. His story had been everything, all he had left. It was the thing he looked forward to in the morning. This story where he could be more than he was, where anything could happen, where he was happy—it kept him sane. And his father had taken it like it was nothing, like it didn’t matter. He’d called it a waste, a distraction.

His breath hitched. Tears stung his eyes. He couldn’t do this. That story had been his life and now it was gone.

Gone gone gone.

‘ _Don’t worry kid. Can’t get rid of me that easy._ '

“Plagg?” he whimpered. It was pointless, nothing but a foolish dream. As if the world would actually give him anything he asked for. As if he was allowed to be happy. But he had to try. Maybe if he did, if he wanted it enough, it would happen.

It didn’t.

A tear slipped down his cheek. He curled up, head in his hands, shoulders shaking.

“Why can’t you be real?”

—————————

Chloe came over the next day. She strutted into the room, blonde ponytail swishing behind her. Adrien slouched on the couch, Ultimate Mecha Strike playing on the TV. Hair unbrushed and still in his pajamas, he looked half dead. The opponent mecha launched an attack. Adrien made a halfhearted attempt to block. Yellow turned to red and disappeared as his avatar died.

A too-bright yellow jacket blocked his view of the screen. Ice blue eyes looked down at him.

“You’re blocking my view Chlo,” Adrien mumbled.

“I am the view. But that’s not important.” Adrien raised an eyebrow at that. “What’s wrong Adrikins?”

“Nothing is wrong.”

“Oh don’t give me that garbage. I’m not stupid. You’re clearly pouting. Why?” she demanded. A hand rested on her cocked hip.

“Don’t worry about it Chloe. It’s nothing you can help with.”

Adrien pushed himself up so he was actually sitting on the couch. Chloe didn’t move.

“That’s ridiculous. Tell me what happened.” He said nothing. “Was it your father? Was he being a dick again?”

“Chloe!”

“What?” she asked, completely unashamed of her vulgarity. Adrien was embarrassed enough for the both of them. Heat rose in his cheeks. “You know it’s true.”

A small smile rose unbidden on his face.

Something that no one ever appreciated about Chloe, that no one ever saw, was her dedication to Adrien. Sure she could be aggressive and rude and even manipulative. She tended to speak her mind and not care about the repercussions. But she hadn’t always been like that.

Chloe was and always had been Adrien’s only friend, his first friend. He knew more about her than anyone else, and she more about him. Adrien had been there when Madame Bourgeois left. Chloe had been there when Emilie Agreste disappeared. She had been there when Adrien got the news, when he cried in his room, asking _why why why did she leave me?_ She had watched his relationship with his father deteriorated as Gabriel shut himself away. She understood. She cared. That was why, no matter how mean Chloe got, Adrien would never abandon her.

That was also why she was only one to ever see his real smile nowadays.

(She was usually the cause of it.)

They had become their own family, two lonely kids in a cruel world.

So Adrien told her the truth. “Father found my book.”

Chloe blinked as she put his words together. “The superhero one?”

She was the only one he had ever told about the book, although he never permitted her to read it. In fact, Chloe was the one who gave him the idea in the first place.

Adrien lived vicariously through her. She was allowed to go to public school, was allowed to just _go out_. Before, when Adrien’s mom was still around (alive? No one knew where she was or what happened. She could very well be dead), Chloe would come over and complain about the horrors of public school.

( _’It’s horrible Adrikins, don’t laugh!’_ )

After his failed attempt to join her, Adrien had asked Chloe to tell him about public school. (She’d stared at him like he grew another head. He’d never asked her to talk about it before.) So she told him about the school, about the principal and the teachers, about her classmates. At his request she tried to be as unbiased as possible. She was actually quite good at it.

His favorite part was always listening to her talk about her classmates. Kim, with his bets and obvious crush on Chloe. Alix and Max, the skater and the genius, Kim’s friends (she called them the Three Musketeers). Nathaniel's amazing drawings and tomato red hair ( _‘Sounds like you've got a crush on him Chlo.’ ‘I do not! Shut up.’_ ). Juleka and Rose, Ivan and Mylene, two of the oddest couples she'd ever seen. Alya, the new girl with a passion for journalism, and her boyfriend Nino, the DJ. And of course Sabrina, Chloe’s friend/servant (Adrien didn’t approve of the servant part). Even Madame Bustier, the teacher, someone they all looked up to (even Chloe).

But he liked hearing about Marinette the most.

Marinette. Even just thinking about her made him smile. A budding fashion designer who loved his father’s work. Class president. Clumsy yet confident. Always kind and ready to help, willing to do whatever she needed to to help her friends. Someone who stood up against wrongdoing and hated liars. Even in real life she was a superhero. Chloe had said they were notorious rivals (although she’d never explained why). Her parents were also bakers. They owned the boulangerie patisserie across the street from Chloe’s school. She often brought snacks from the bakery for her classmates.

Even without ever meeting her Adrien had fallen in love.

In the story, Marinette was Ladybug, his beautiful, amazing partner, and he was head over heels for her. The idea for Ladybug (and subsequently Chat Noir) came from a class photo Chloe had shown him. Marinette was wearing a pair of red and black earrings. Ladybug earrings. His mind had taken this information and turned Marinette into a superhero.

Ladybug, the protector of Paris.

He’d ignored it at first, but the thought wouldn’t leave him alone. It followed him everywhere, stole his attention during lessons and photoshoots. After two weeks of not being able to get the idea out his head, he gave in. But once he started, he couldn’t stop. He made Ladybug, and then he made himself her partner. Chat Noir, the black to her red, the dark to her light, the bad luck to her good luck. He was her equal, her best friend. And when he wasn’t with her, he was at school or spending time with his friends. In the story, Adrien gave himself everything he’d never had in real life. He’d lost himself in this made up world.

And then it had been taken from him.

“Adrien!”

Chloe snapped her fingers in his face. He jerked away from them, blinking. He unclenched his hands, which he hadn’t realized were clenched in the first place. Crescent indents dotted his palms, four on each hand.

“What?” he breathed.

Chloe sighed with exasperation. “It’s like talking to a brick wall,” she muttered. “Honestly Adrikins, you look like you’re about to hit something. Does this book really mean that much to you?”

Everything about her seemed bored; her body language, her face, her tone. But Adrien could see the worry underneath it all. She might not know exactly how important this was to him, but she knew it important, and that was all that mattered. Adrien didn’t even consider lying to her.

“Yes.”

She searched his face, eyes drilling into him, studying every little movement. He met her gaze, tried to convey his desperation and pain with a look. It took a moment of staring, but she nodded slightly. Her hand was already reaching for her phone.

“Then I’ll call Daddy. He’ll tell your father to give it back to you.”

“We both know that doesn’t work on Father Chlo.”

“Then I’ll get you another—“

“Father doesn’t want me writing anymore. If I get another notebook, he’ll find it. Besides, I don’t want to start over.”

Chloe huffed out a breath. She dropped her purse on the couch and flopped down next to him. “Well then what are we supposed to do?”

With a shrug, he said, “I don’t know. I spent all night trying to come up with a way to get it back but I couldn’t think of anything. My father will have hidden it if he hasn’t destroyed it already. And there’s no way I’ll be able to find it before he knows I’m looking. There are security cameras in my house.”

Chloe was silent a moment. Then: “Well this sucks.”

A laugh slipped through Adrien’s lips. It was just like Chloe to put it so bluntly.

“Yeah. It kind of does.”

“You gonna be okay?” She was looking at him with an expression she only ever showed him. It was raw and open, all concern for him. Not for the first time Adrien was so thankful to have Chloe in his life.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

——————————

He was not fine. In fact he was the opposite of fine. He lost interest in almost every activity. The world seemed dull, like it had lost all its color. And Ladybug. He saw her everywhere. She wouldn’t leave him alone. Marinette wouldn’t leave him alone. This girl he had never met, this girl he loved. He’d hoped thoughts of her, of the world that only existed in his mind, would stop after a day or too. But they kept coming. It felt like he was in a never-ending state of withdrawal. He had let himself become too obsessed, too trapped in a dream, and this was his punishment. It was torture.

(He still had the story in his mind of course, but it wasn’t the same. The ideas mixed together, got lost. That world didn’t exist unless he wrote it down.)

He tried to think of a way to get the book back, God he tried. Nothing worked. It had been two weeks and he was beginning to give up hope. He was beginning to see the futility in it.

So, as a last ditch effort, Adrien decided to talk to his father directly. It was very likely he’d be shot down, but he had to try. And there was always a chance it would work. His performance had been suffering lately. Maybe his father would see that. Maybe he’d realize the book actually helped him, made him happier.

That was not, unfortunately, what happened.

Adrien knocked on the door to his father’s office. He cracked it open, enough to slip through. “Father, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about. Can I have a moment of your time?”

Gabriel was sitting on his desk, looking at a stack of papers in front of him. He looked up only for a second and said, “Yes of course.”

Adrien visibly brightened. That was easy. “Really?” he asked, hopeful.

“I’ll have Nathalie tell you when I’m available.”

The smile slipped off his face. He took a deep breath, clenched his fists, straightened his shoulders. He would not be pushed aside. Not this time. “No.” His voice came out shaky. Gabriel raised an eyebrow.

“No?”

“No. I need to talk to you now.”

Gabriel put down his paper and folded his hands on the desk. He looked Adrien straight in the eyes. “You have my attention.”

“My book, I want it back. It’s important to me and it helps me focus. You don’t let me go to school or have real relationships with people so I made somewhere for my self. I want you to give it back.” He paused, then added, “Please.”

“You are not getting that book back. End of discussion.”

Adrien’s courage left him. His face flushed. How pathetic he sounded, like a child throwing a tantrum. He turned and left, making sure to slam the door behind him. It was petty, but it made him feel better.

——————————

The next photoshoot was a week later, at the Trocadéro. Nathalie came with him.

It did not go well.

Adrien tried. He tried to be happy and carefree, to channel the model part of himself, but he couldn’t. He smiled and posed, but he knew it wasn’t working. Everyone could tell his heart wasn’t in it. Vincent was vocal about his displeasure with the pictures. He tried a number of different approaches, but none of them fixed the problem. Nathalie watched from the side, lips downturned.

“What is the problem Adrien?” Vincent finally asked. “Why are you so . . .” He gestured to Adrien’s face.

The model sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired.”

Vincent mode a noise of acknowledgement. “Well, we need to get this done so just . . . think about something happy. Think about puppies. Or kittens. I don’t care. Just smile.”

Marinette’s face appeared in his mind’s eye. She made him happy. She was real, not a figment of his imagination. Even if she had never met him, even if she had no clue who he was, she was real.

A smile bent his mouth.

“Perfecto! Stay like that.”

The shoot went well after that. Adrien kept his thoughts focused on Marinette and found it was easier to pretend he was happy. He wasn’t of course, but no one would know that looking at the pictures. Vincent ended the shoot pleased, and Adrien noticed the frown had left Nathalie’s face.

He was docile on the way home. Nathalie glanced back at him more than once, but he kept his gaze fixed on the passing buildings. There was nothing she could do for him. The Gorilla was silent as always, but even he looked at Adrien once or twice, brows furrowed. He was touched by the man’s concern. Although he didn’t like having a bodyguard—he didn’t see the point—he appreciated the Gorilla’s quiet presence.

(It was sad that he spent more time around the Gorilla and Nathalie than around his own father.)

The gates of the mansion opened to allow the car entry to the courtyard. The Gorilla stopped the car to let them out before his pulled into the garage. Nathalie climbed out first, tablet in hand as always. Adrien followed at a more reserved pace. He watched her back as she climbed the steps to the front door. The gates let out a squeak as they began closing. The Gorilla maneuvered the car toward the garage.

Adrien stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Looked at the stone beneath him, the Gabriel brand on his shoes.

The front door creaked open.

“Adrien.”

On the first day of school Adrien had ditched Nathalie and the Gorilla. He’d originally planned to sneak out but Nathalie had seen him. He’d then abandoned all pretense of stealth and sprinted down the street. The plan was to go to Chloe’s school. She had suggested it during summer, after he mentioned how he wanted to go to public school. They both knew his father would never let him, so Chloe told him to sneak out. Nathalie and the Gorilla had caught him on the steps of the school. He’d been so close to freedom he could taste it. It had been right in front of him. But he’d turned around to help an old man who’d fallen (and who became Master Fu in the story). His chance had been ruined then, and he’d gone home, although he was far from happy about it. Gabriel hadn’t appreciated his ‘little act’, and had forbidden Adrien from pulling a stunt like that again.

It was spring now, and Adrien had followed his father’s rules. He’d accepted his fate and made no other attempts to leave.

Until now.

Gabriel Agreste was not a good parent. He didn’t seem to care about his son’s feelings. All he cared about was work.

Adrien was tired of being pushed aside.

Screw his father.

He was going to do what he wanted. He was going to be happy.

Adrien thought of his story. He thought of the Adrien in it, the Adrien that was everything he wasn’t. Everything he could never be. He thought of the Adrien who was Chat Noir, the pun loving cat hero of Paris. He thought of the Adrien who wasn’t afraid to be himself. The Adrien who disobeyed his father because he wasn’t okay with being treated like trash. He wasn’t okay with his father acting like he wasn’t important. He thought of the Adrien he wanted to be.

He turned on his heels.

“Adrien?”

He ran.

“Adrien!”

The gate was closing quickly, but there was enough room for him to slip through.

Nathalie yelled behind him.

He didn’t stop.

People stared as he passed, but he forced his legs to keep moving. He refused to turn around, refused to go back. He would not feel guilty for this. He was not feel guilty for caring about his own happiness.

Some part of his brain decided he was going to Marinette’s bakery. He knew where it was, had passed it before. So he tore across the street, wincing as a car honked at him. He desperately wished he had Plagg beside him, spouting something about cheese. But Plagg was only a figment of his imagination, a character in his mind. There would be no snarky comments or complaints. He was on his own.

He felt free.

Apartment buildings surrounded the park on all sides. On a map, they made a square around the green of the park. Adrien passed under a tunnel between apartments and through the gates in one corner of the park. He ran around the carousel, waving at a child that watched from a plastic horse. He passed the fountain in the center, where he’d had photoshoots before. He dodged couples and children and parents. He never stopped or slowed down. The Gorilla and Nathalie were probably on their way already. He wouldn’t let himself be caught. Not yet. He saw the bakery on his left and smiled. Almost there. The Gorilla’s silver car flashed in the corner of his eye. The green of the park disappeared. He slowed his pace as he crossed the street. Heading for the front door, he jogged around the corner—

And crashed into someone.

Adrien stumbled and fell backward. His butt hit painful cement. A hiss of pain slipped through his lips.

“Ow,” a female voice complained.

The other participant of the crash had fallen as well. She had a hand to her forehead. Adrien scrambled to his feet and reached out to help the girl up. She accepted his offered hand. Her skin was soft and warm in his hand.

“I’m so sorry. That was totally my fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going and I’m so-“ the girl looked up- “so . . . rry.”

No way. There was no way. He couldn’t be this lucky.

But he’d seen pictures, and this girl looked exactly like her. Black hair that looked almost blue in the sunlight, placed in pigtails. Bluebell eyes. A small build. The light pink purse Chloe said she always had. Ladybug earrings.

Adrien had run into none other than Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

“Marinette,” he breathed.

Those beautiful eyes narrowed. She slipped her hand out of his. “Who are you?”

Adrien looked behind him, then back at her. “I would love to tell you, but first I need to hide.”

She glanced over his shoulder. “From who?”

“My bodyguard. I’m not really supposed to be here.” She didn’t move. Adrien saw the car. “Please?”

Marinette stared at him. He was about to keep running when she grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the bakery. It smelled like bread. Like bread and pastries and cookies and vanilla and every amazing bakery smell ever. Adrien’s mouth started watering from that smell alone.

“Who is this dear?” a woman asked.

She stood behind the counter, next to a large man in an apron. The woman was Sabine Cheng, Marinette’s mother. She and Marinette had the same hair, although Sabine’s was shorter, ending just below her chin. Marinette also got her short stature from her mother. Tom Dupain, Marinette’s father, was a mountain of the man. He was probably the same size as the Gorilla, although his face was decidedly more kind. He seemed to tower over his wife. Next to him, she seemed fragile, breakable, as did Marinette. But he gave Adrien a soft smile, and Adrien found himself smiling back.

“He’s a friend. From school,” Marinette lied. “We’re partners for a project.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you . . .” Tom trailed off.

“Adrien, sir,” he supplied.

“Pleasure to meet you Adrien.”

“You too, sir.”

“We’ll be upstairs,” Marinette said. She pulled him through the bakery.

As they passed the counter, Sabine held a tray up. “Croissant?” she asked.

“Oh, yes please.” He took one from the tray. It was still warm. “Merci.”

Marinette led him up two flights of stairs to a door. It opened to reveal a single room, a kitchen and living room in one. It was small, not even half the size of his bedroom. Marinette didn’t allow him much time to look around though. She dragged him up a step ladder that lead into what could only be her bedroom.

An elevated bed took up one corner, a skylight above it, leading to the balcony. A pink chaise sat in front of the far wall. To the left of the chaise was a full body mirror and a design mannequin. A half finished jacket covered the fake torso. A purple chest decorated with flowers had been placed at the foot of the chaise. On the floor was a large pink and black rug. Behind the trap door they’d just come from was a pink and black vanity. The space below the beg was taken up by a long desk. Materials littered the desktop. A computer, sketchbooks and crumpled paper, fabric and needles, a sewing machine and lamp. On one wall was a bulletin board covered with sticky notes, and pictures decorated the other wall. Some were of her friends (mostly Alya and Nino), some were of clothes. Most were other designer’s clothes (he saw one or two from his father), but a few were her own sketches. And the walls themselves-

“Wow. That’s . . . a lot of pink.”

Marinette stopped in the middle of her room and whirled around the face him. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she examined him with a critical eye. “Yes, it is. Now, how do you know my name?”

Adrien’s mouth was suddenly dry. He swallowed and took a breath. “I’m Adrien.” He paused, then added, “Agreste.”

She blinked at him. “Adrien Agreste, son of my favorite fashion designer Gabriel Agreste?”

“That’s the one.”

Her face went slack. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it. Another frown appeared. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I’m friends with Chloe.”

“Chloe Bourgeois?” she asked, shocked.

“Yes. Do you know any other Chloes?”

“No, I just . . . didn’t think Chloe had any friends.”

“Chloe has friends.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why are you her friend? She’s a terrible person.”

“She can be-“ he searched for the right word- “difficult.” Marinette snorted at that. “But she wasn’t always like that.”

“If you say so,” Marinette muttered.

She took a step back and sat down on her chaise, keeping her eyes on Adrien. Her gaze pinned him to the floor. He continued to stand by the trapdoor, unsure what to do with his hands—or the rest of his body. He shoved them in his pockets and rocked on his heels.

“So has Chloe talked about me or something? Is that how you know who I am?”

“Yeah. She’s talked about the entire class actually.” More frowning. “All good stuff,” he promised quickly. “Well, mostly good stuff. I asked her to be unbiased. She’s actually a pretty good storyteller when she wants to be.”

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same Chloe?”

“Blonde. Blue eyes. Always wears that really bright yellow jacket. Daughter of the mayor. Goes to Francois Dupont.”

Marinette nodded. She said nothing else, and Adrien still felt like he was on trial, so he remained quiet. Finally, Marinette said, “You can sit down.” She patted the space next to her on the chaise.

“Oh.” Adrien was at the chaise in a few steps. He sat down, careful not to touch her. “Thank you.”

A hum of acknowledgement. She looked at him again, but this time it was less confused and wary. “You said you weren’t supposed to be here. Why not?”

“Unless it’s for a photoshoot or fencing, my father really doesn’t let me go outside.”

“That’s awful.”

He shrugged.

“Why are you here then?”

Adrien laced his fingers together, kept his eyes down. “He um, took something from me. Something that meant a lot to me. He said it was a distraction.”

“Was it?”

He shook his head vehemently.

“Did you tell him that.”

A humorless laugh slipped through his lips. “My father doesn’t allow negotiation. He’s not going to give it back to me no matter how much I ask.”

“So you ran away?”

“It sounds bad, but yeah. I—“ A loud ringing filled the room. Adrien’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out to see Nathalie’s face on the screen. Before he felt tempted to answer it, he turned off the phone. He wasn’t going home yet. Not when he’d just found Marinette.

“Who was that?”

“Nathalie, my father’s assistant. She’ll be angry that I didn’t answer, but—“ he shrugged. “Guess I’ll deal with it later.”

There was more silence, but it was almost comfortable this time. After a moment, Marinette stood up. She looked down at him with a smile that bordered on mischievous. “You ever played Ultimate Mecha Strike?”

Adrien could feel his own smile growing. “I love that game.”

“You up for a round or two?”

“Heck yeah.”

“Prepare to lose Pretty Boy.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

Adrien Agreste’s life was far from perfect. It was filled with pain and loneliness, and not enough love. And maybe he’d made up a world in his mind to deal with this. Maybe that was his way of coping with his general lack of control over his own life. And maybe that world had been taken from him. But maybe, just maybe, that was okay. Maybe he’d found something in the real world that made him happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the second conversation between Adrien and Gabriel was taken from Gorizilla.


End file.
